


Darling

by ellissnow



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: M/M, liberal use of cheesy pet-names, prioritisation of kissing over doctoring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 16:07:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6963643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellissnow/pseuds/ellissnow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They somehow slip into using slightly inappropriate endearments for each other - but it doesn't mean anything at all. Probably.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Darling

**Author's Note:**

> So I decided to finish some of the unfinished writing, both fanfic and original, that's lurking in my computer. And instead I started and finished this organic plot-free piece of not-really-anything. (Everything I write is not-really-anything, that's my USP.) I regret nothing, because there can never be too much Bashir/Garak in the world! (I love them so much <3) 
> 
> Please expect more of the same in the future!

Garak’s term of address for him goes from “Doctor Bashir” to “my dear Doctor” to just “my dear” quickly, within weeks of their first meeting, and so smoothly and naturally that Julian barely notices at all. He begins returning the endearment without thinking about it and doesn’t really consider the matter further.

When Garak casually calls him “darling” over lunch, literally years later, well that he does notice, despite how natural he makes it sound, as if he's been calling him his darling for years. It looks for all the world as if he’s said it by accident, doesn’t even know he’s said it at all, but this is Garak, so that simply can’t be true. Perhaps the word, whatever Cardassian word he's used that has been translated to the word, means something slightly different in Cardassian... Perhaps it doesn’t come with quite the same...romantic connotations. Perhaps he's just reading far too much into the use of a simple word... 

Knowing Garak will have noticed his reaction, although he’s sitting there with that infuriatingly easy smile on his face, Julian doesn’t mention it, and picks the conversation back up as casually as he can, considering the fact that he likes being called darling by Garak, and despite being unsure what exactly he means by it - he will no doubt spend days over-analysing that one - he rather fervently hopes he will call him it again.

Which he does, all the time from then on. After a while, Julian’s using it too. He starts forgetting to wonder what Garak means by the affectionate term, spends less and less time actively thinking about how he feels when he returns it - it’s just what they call each other sometimes. 

And then one day Garak’s arguing with him about the importance of kindness in the medical profession, and he’s annoyed but momentarily half distracted, checking the time and wondering if he can get away with another half hour before he returns to work, and he says in irritation “come on, my love, even you can’t possibly…”

And he falters as he realises what he’s just called him, looks up with sudden shyness, tries to continue his sentence but can’t possibly in the face of Garak, stock still and intent and looking at him with what he can’t possibly doubt is…

“Julian,” he says suddenly, standing abruptly. “If you would perhaps take a walk with me? I find myself suddenly feeling rather –restless….” There’s far too much terseness in his voice, too much tension in his body as he stands there, elbow out waiting for Julian to take his arm, for it to be the casual request it sounds like, and god, Julian has no intention of not going wherever he wants with him.

He stands and takes his arm, and the next thing he knows – the next thing other than his heart beating too fast, too loudly, and the excited, nervous certainty of what’s going to happen, finally happen – they’re in Garak’s shop, and he’s locking the door behind them (“It’s closer,” Garak mutters by way of a brief explanation, none of his usual wordiness, just slightly breathless haste). He takes Julian's hand and pulls him through the shop and Julian laughs giddily and lets himself be led.

And then they’re in the tiny little office behind the shop’s counter and Garak, wasting not even a second, is slamming the door shut behind them, has him up against it…

At the very last second, he stops. His hands are on Julian’s neck and his waist, his body is pressing him against the door, his mouth is so close Julian imagines he can already taste him, and he wants to taste him, wants all of this – and the last few minutes have made it abundantly clear that Garak wants exactly the same. So why? Why the sudden hesitation?

“Julian… My love…” Garak whispers, repeating his own words back to him with an uncertainty completely at odds with his otherwise dominant behaviour. After a confused second of just listening to the heavy breaths between them, Julian thinks he understands. Garak’s…checking he’s alright with this. Giving him a last chance to put a stop to it before they cross a line where they can no longer just pretend it hasn’t happened later if they should choose to.

He almost wants to laugh at the fact that Garak, who likes to pretend he knows everything – and does know most things – thinks he might want this chance to stop what’s happening, somehow _doesn’t_ know that he’s longed for it for ages, that he’s _so ready_ for it to finally happen. 

But his need for Garak to kiss him, right now, is far too urgent for any of these things to be discussed, so he just says _“Yes…”_ and by the time the word is out they are kissing, forcefully, desperately. Julian wraps his arms around Garak as tightly as he can, revelling in a fierce kind of joy at being suddenly so intimate with him. A certain feeling of possessiveness makes him bite at Garak’s lip, makes the pain of Garak’s fingers digging into his side into something comforting – this is really happening!

“Elim…” he pants between kisses. Garak – Elim – has finally come round to the idea of using given names – his at least - and he’s damn well going to take advantage of it. He likes the sound of it on his own lips nearly as much as he likes hearing “my darling Julian” from a breathless, dark-eyed Garak in return. He strokes Garak’s face, touching his mouth gently in apology for the tiny cut his teeth have inflicted before they both give in to wanting more – slower now, their desperation to start this thing between them cooled a little now it has, without a shadow of a doubt, started.

It feels like more than the start of something new between them, though, as Garak pulls him towards himself rather than pressing him back against the door, kissing him more gently, less urgently. It feels as if this unexpected, incredibly intense encounter has made up for years of slightly frustrated friendship, of wondering if he really could be Garak’s darling… As if it’s been inevitable since the first time Garak called him “my dear”, even though he wasn’t really paying attention back then…

He could spend his whole afternoon here with Garak, just kissing and murmuring endearments to each other – honestly, as far as he’s concerned they could spend the afternoon doing much more than kissing; undressing each other would be a nice start… He smiles against Garak’s mouth, his arousal threatening to slip from his control again at the thought that, _god, we’re definitely going to sleep together…_

It isn’t going to be now, though, of course. That would be moving way too quickly anyway, he tells himself, vaguely pretending to himself that he wouldn’t willingly, eagerly give himself to Garak right now, on the floor of this office, just minutes after their very first kiss.

“Elim,” he says again, kissing him hard then wrenching himself away with a strength of will he’s surprised he actually has. “I have to go to back to work.”

“Not yet, surely?” Garak murmurs, pushing him gently until his back is pressed up against the office door again. “Since you’re already late, a few more minutes will make no difference…”

 _A few more minutes, then,_ Julian tells himself sternly, then instantly forgets his resolve, sinking happily into the feeling of being touched and kissed and wanted by the man he’s adored for such a long time.

He does make it back to work that afternoon, but it’s lucky it’s not a busy day, as he’s nearly an hour late, and he bumbles through his shift, distracted and dreamy, thinking only of Elim and of kissing him again, and absent-mindedly calls more than one of his colleagues “my darling”.


End file.
